And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown reason, was being taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy dray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: "Hey there, German hatter" bawling at the top of his voice and pointing at him--the young man stopped suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat.

And for years, as unforgettable as the aroma of beer on the way, was the sight of Hancock's great white dray horses thunderously cavorting on the banks of the Taff after a day's work hauling barrels to pubs as far away as Swansea.

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